


in the dragon's lair

by unniebee



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Body Worship, Frottage, M/M, Massage, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unniebee/pseuds/unniebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on, it’s a little unusual.  How do I just say ‘hey by the way, I’m banging my massage therapist, and I’m pretty sure his other clients are too’?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the dragon's lair

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [yifantasy](http://yifantasy.livejournal.com/4904.html) and FINALLY crossposted after, like, months. Thanks to Lore for looking this over and to everyone who helped reassure me that this was worth posting. For ambiance, I listened to [this](https://youtu.be/QZbuj3RJcjI) while writing.

"Yifan!"

Chanyeol looked up, surprised to hear his best friend calling for someone else. Baekhyun strode forward, one hand raised in greeting and a big grin on his face.

At the end of the supermarket aisle stood a terribly tall, terribly _handsome_ man, designer jeans and leather jacket and a beat-up shopping basket on his arm. He spotted Baekhyun and a bright smile stretched across his features.

"Baek, who are you...?" Chanyeol murmured, but Baekhyun wasn't listening, already halfway down the aisle. The man reached out as he approached and pulled Baekhyun into a tight hug.

Chanyeol's eyebrows shot through the roof.

"Baekhyun, hey," the man said as Chanyeol cautiously came closer. His voice was pleasantly deep. "How's it going?" He looked up over Baekhyun's head and his gaze landed on Chanyeol, dark and curious. "Who's this?"

Baekhyun hadn't let go of the man's waist yet. Not that Chanyeol could really blame him; it seemed like a nice waist. "This is my best friend Chanyeol," Baekhyun introduced cheerfully. "Chanyeol, this is Yifan."

"Good to meet you," Yifan said, reaching out the hand that was not still wrapped around Baekhyun's shoulders. It was weird - Baekhyun was touchy, but he didn't usually cuddle with unknown men in the middle of the supermarket. Chanyeol shook the man's hand. It was a very big hand, warm and strong, and Yifan's eyes wandered over Chanyeol's form as they shook, taking in his oversized, ratty hoodie, his ripped jeans.

"You too," Chanyeol said. “How...how do you two know each other?”

To Chanyeol’s surprise, Baekhyun actually _blushed_ , laughing a little and looking away with cheeks tinged pink. Yifan was the one who answered. “He’s one of my clients,” he said. “I’m a masseur.”

That was not at _all_ what Chanyeol was expecting, and it must have showed on his face. Yifan laughed and Baekhyun blushed harder, and it was so uncharacteristic as to be completely surreal.

“Are you always so cozy with your clients?” Chanyeol asked, glancing at where Baekhyun was still cuddled comfortably against the taller man’s side.

Yifan’s shrug was easy, carefree. “Not always,” he said. “But I’ve known Baek for a long time. Years. He’s one of my regulars.”

That actually stung a bit. How could Baek be this close with someone and have never mentioned him to Chanyeol even once? They practically lived in each other’s pockets! Chanyeol pursed his lips, and Yifan’s laughter faded, taking in Chanyeol’s expression with a look of sincere concern that made Chanyeol feel rather uncomfortably like the taller man was reading his thoughts.

“Yeol,” Baekhyun began. “It’s not like...I mean, I told you I had an appointment every week.” 

Yeah. But Chanyeol didn’t know anyone else who snuggled with their massage therapist in the supermarket aisle.

“Hey, listen,” Yifan interjected, gentle but cheerful. “Any friend of Baekhyun’s is welcome, if you want to come check out the practice. First visit on the house, and I’ll see you personally. Sound good?”

Baekhyun looked up at Yifan in surprise. “Wait, really?”

A smile. “Yeah, of course,” Yifan said. “Just give him the number and make an appointment. I’ll handle the rest.” He disengaged from Baekhyun, rubbing his palm companionably across Baekhyun’s shoulder blade before letting his hand drop. “Nice to meet you, Chanyeol. I hope I’ll be seeing you soon.”

He flashed them both one last smile before walking away, and if Chanyeol watched him go, it was only because he was trying to figure out how he’d found jeans that fit his long legs so perfectly.

Chanyeol glanced down at Baekhyun. “What the heck was _that_ all about?” he asked.

Baekhyun smacked his arm. “Don’t make a fuss,” he muttered. “Why are you so sour, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you’re greeting your freaking _masseur_ like he’s your _boyfriend_ ,” Chanyeol hissed back. “You looked like you were about ready to _climb_ him.” He expected, with a quip like that, to get smacked again, to get an outraged denial or a snarky comeback. Instead, he got a hot red flush that abruptly bloomed up Baekhyun’s entire face and neck, and oh. Shit. He’d hit a nerve. “Wait, is this a thing? Do you have a crush on your masseur?”

That one _did_ earn him another smack. “Keep it down,” Baekhyun muttered, looking around like he expected Yifan to come right back around that corner. “It’s complicated.”

Complicated. Sure. “How the heck have I not heard about this before?” Chanyeol demanded quietly as they resumed moving down the aisles. “How long have you been hard for him?”

“Why do you sound like you’re jealous?” Baekhyun shot back. “It’s not like that. It’s _com.pli.ca.ted._ ” 

“Look, man, I’m not judging,” Chanyeol said, picking up a pack of banana milk and tossing it in the basket. “He’s a pretty hot piece of ass, I’ll give you that.”

Baekhyun groaned. “You are the actual worst,” he muttered. “Seriously, though. I’m shocked he offered to see you, let alone for _free_. You should take him up on it.”

Lingering sourness had Chanyeol muttering, “Are you sure you want to let me that close to him?”

“Chanyeol.” Baekhyun’s gaze was judging. “Quit being a dick. Yifan owns the practice and has half a dozen therapists working for him, he doesn’t see just _anyone_. If he asked you to make an appointment with him, he meant it. And you should do it. You’re wound up like a Slinky and trust me when I say his hands are magic.” He wiggled his fingers as if to demonstrate.

Chanyeol shoved him away. "I'll think about it," was all he said.

 

* * * * *

 

He didn't think about it. Actually, he forgot about it, until a week later when Baekhyun came home from his usual Tuesday appointment looking flushed and glowy and asked Chanyeol if he had thought about it.

"Yifan said he's got an opening on Thursday evening," Baekhyun said. "You should do it."

And that was how Chanyeol ended up walking into Sleeping Dragon Studios, feeling terribly out of place and more than a little bit nervous. The woman behind the counter, tall and gorgeous, smiled at him in an extraordinarily professional manner.

"Welcome," she said. "Do you have an appointment?" 

"Uh...yes," Chanyeol said. "5:30. It'll be under Park?"

She glanced at her computer screen, then frowned, clicking around a bit. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I don't have you down here."

His face flushing with embarrassment, Chanyeol opened his mouth to explain, but before he could speak, a deep voice interrupted them. "He's here for me."

Chanyeol looked up. Yifan himself was coming out of a back room, dressed in pristine white slacks and a tailored grey shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled up. He was _shockingly_ good-looking.

“Oh, you should have said so!” The woman smiled at him again, bright and relieved. “Go on back, then.”

Yifan gestured invitingly with a big hand, and Chanyeol smiled nervously and followed him around the desk and through a heavy, solid wooden door. On the other side was a small, cozy sitting room, plush clean furniture and a thick, squishy carpet. The lighting was soft and low, gentle instrumental music drifted through from somewhere, and there was a faint scent of something spicy and flowery in the air.

There was also a young man fast asleep on one of the couches. Chanyeol blinked in confusion, but if Yifan was surprised, he didn’t show it. He only tugged a soft knit blanket up and over the man’s shoulders, a gentle, fond smile on his face, and then gestured for Chanyeol to follow him through another heavy door on the other side of the room.

“Jongin falls asleep as soon as I’m done with him every week,” he explained, his voice low. “Anyway. I’m glad you decided to give this a shot, Chanyeol. Baekhyun talks about you a lot.”

Chanyeol laughed nervously. “Whatever he said, it’s probably a gross exaggeration.” He glanced around the room. It was dim and cushy as the previous, dressed to be soothing, with a trickling fountain in one corner, a hutch with a countertop in another, and a large massage table in the center. “I, uh. I’ve never done something like this before.”

Another smile, this one a little wry. “I’ll be gentle with you,” Yifan murmured.

Chanyeol tried not to flush.

If Yifan noticed his embarrassment, he didn’t say anything. Instead he went to the hutch in the corner and opened the cabinet. “Are you allergic to anything?” he asked.

“Um. Not as far as I know?” Chanyeol shifted his weight awkwardly. Was he supposed to get on the table now?

Yifan glanced at him, looked him up and down for a moment, then pulled a couple of bottles off the shelf and brought them over. Popping the tops, he held them out. “What do you think of these scents?”

Gingerly, Chanyeol sniffed. One was citrusy, bright and sunny, and the other was musky and spicy. “They’re both good,” he said, because making decisions was not his forte.

A nod. “Good. Okay, I’m going to step out for a few moments. Undress as much as you are comfortable and get under the blanket, alright? Face-down, first.”

Oh. Chanyeol nodded, and Yifan smiled and left the room with the bottles in hand, closing the door softly behind him.

Stripping down in the quiet, warm, dim room was a little bit surreal. Chanyeol debated for a long moment about his underwear - he hadn’t been sure how naked he was going to be asked to get, so he’d worn his cleanest, best-fitting, most flattering boxer-briefs today - but in the end, he decided to keep them on. 

The massage table, he discovered, was heated, and the blanket was thin and plain but pre-warmed, and once he was under it, face-down with his head in the face rest and his bare chest pressed to the sheets, he found himself starting to relax, to melt. The heat sunk into his skin, and the soft music combined with the trickle of the fountain filled his ears and calmed his mind.

He had almost drifted into a doze by the time Yifan came back, a soft knock on the door followed by the sound of it opening and closing again. Chanyeol didn’t lift his head, but he could see large bare feet under the hems of the white trousers pad past him to the hutch.

“Doing alright?” Yifan asked. Chanyeol hummed wordlessly in response. “Good. This is your first time, so I will just do an all-over relaxation massage. Unless you have a particular area of pain you’d like me to work on?”

Chanyeol shrugged, which was a weird motion when laid flat on a table with his face pressed into a padded hole. “You’re the professional,” he muttered. 

“Hmm, true. But it’s your body.” More small noises as Yifan moved around, prepping whatever he was prepping. “I don’t know if Baekhyun told you, but I take only a few clients myself. I prefer it that way, so I can get to know each of them individually and intimately. My focus is on treating the _individual_ body. So if you have a request, please, don’t be afraid to voice it. I will do nearly anything for my clients.”

If Chanyeol wasn’t already so warm, he probably would have turned red. He knew Yifan did not mean _anything_ anything - probably - but his tone was unconsciously seductive and the image was hard to shake. “Uh,” he muttered intelligently. “I’ll...let you know.”

“Please do.” A slick, slightly lewd sound filled the air. Oil on Yifan’s hands? “Ready?”

“Sure.”

Yifan’s feet came back into view by Chanyeol’s head, and the blanket was peeled back from the top half of Chanyeol’s body, tucked in gently around Chanyeol’s hips. 

Chanyeol felt Yifan approaching before his hands made contact. They were indeed coated in some kind of oil, and they were very big and very warm, landing fully on his shoulders and pressing one long, smooth stroke down the entire length of his spine. The long, low moan that fell from Chanyeol’s lips was unintentional and surprised even him.

Yifan paused, his hands splayed out over Chanyeol’s lower back. “Doing alright?” he murmured.

Darn it. “Yeah, sorry,” Chanyeol said.

“Is it too hard?” Yifan asked.

Chanyeol pursed his lips, thankful Yifan couldn’t see his face. _It will be if you keep touching me like that,_ he grumbled internally. Outwardly, though, he just said, “No, I was just surprised.”

“Ah. Alright then. Let me know if you want it softer or harder.” Yifan trailed his fingers back up the line he’d just pressed, his touch light and feathery and soothing. Then he repeated the action, the heels of his hands pressing bluntly but deeply into the column of muscle on either side of Chanyeol’s spine. Chanyeol felt knots break and muscle fibers push apart and all the air in his lungs leaked out in a long sigh.

Yifan hummed under his breath. “You’re tight,” he murmured, drawing his hands back up to do it again. “Do you work out? Play sports, or something?” This time, he worked his hands down that line of Chanyeol’s back in short, strong strokes, alternating side to side like he was kneading dough. It felt _lovely_.

“Umm,” Chanyeol said, distracted by the sensation. “A little. But mostly I just spend all day hunched over a guitar or piano.”

“A musician.” Through the hole in the facerest, Chanyeol saw Yifan’s feet step a little bit closer. “Do you write music, or just play it?”

He’d stopped to put more oil on his hands, so Chanyeol had a moment to breathe and answer. “I compose, yeah. Baekhyun’s a singer, we’ve got a project we’ve been working on.”

“Oh, that’s right, he told me a little about that.” Warm, freshly oiled hands spread over Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, thumbs digging deeply into the column of spine muscles. Yifan pushed forward, harder than before, pressing all the way down Chanyeol’s back to the dip right above his hips. Chanyeol could feel the warmth of his body hovering over him as he leaned forward and kneaded into Chanyeol’s lower back like a cat. “Have you had any success with that so far?”

“Uh, we sold one track to a local coffee shop for an advertisement,” Chanyeol admitted. “But no big - _ow_!”

Yifan immediately stopped moving. “Did I hit something?” Chanyeol nodded, rather clumsily since his face was still pushed into the facerest. “Over here?” He prodded the spot, much more gently, and bright, sharp pain lanced up Chanyeol’s spine.

“Yes,” he said, teeth gritted. “Wow, what the heck.”

“You’ve got a really bad knot here,” Yifan murmured. He stepped around the table, coming to Chanyeol’s side, his hands trailing over Chanyeol’s skin as he moved. “I’m going to try to work it out, okay? Let me know if the pain gets to be too much.”

And Yifan was gentle, Chanyeol could tell. He was barely touching Chanyeol. But in that spot, that one little spot down by his hip, his touch felt like agony. Chanyeol’s hands clenched fruitlessly into fists as pain spiked and receded. 

“Hmm.” Yifan left one hand over the spot, just pressing his palm flat against it, warm and soothing. Chanyeol heaved a sigh of relief, and Yifan probed the same spot on the other side of his spine with his free hand. “This doesn’t hurt, though?”

“Not really?” Chanyeol shifted his hips a little. “I mean, I feel it, but it’s not like, _stabbing_.”

Yifan pushed his hands against the side of Chanyeol’s spine, kneading up and down. It was like a rollercoaster ride of sensation - the pressure felt really, really good up near the middle of his back, but then he’d get down toward the bottom and pain would spike again. It made Chanyeol a little short of breath, honestly.

Finally, Yifan let it go, rubbing his hands in gentle, warm circles over Chanyeol’s entire lower back. “Do you sit on one hip a lot?” he asked. “Fold your legs to the side?”

Chanyeol thought about it and tried not to arch into Yifan’s soothing touch. “Uh...I tend to fold one leg up under me when I play guitar?”

“Ah, yes, that would do it. You might want to stop that.” He patted Chanyeol’s skin. “I’ll torture something else for a little while then, give this a rest.”

He moved back up by Chanyeol’s head, re-oiling his hands before laying them high on Chanyeol’s shoulders. Slow, long strokes of his strong hands into Chanyeol’s trapezius muscles felt much more amazing than Chanyeol was prepared for, the pressure deeper on each stroke.

“Hmm. This is tight, too,” Yifan murmured. One hand stroked up the back of Chanyeol’s neck, stopping right at his hairline, pulling up gently while the other hand pushed the shoulder down. It stretched a part of Chanyeol’s neck he hadn’t realized could be stretched, and Chanyeol groaned softly. “You’re carrying a whole lot of tension up here.” He switched hands, repeating the action on the other side. Now that his hands were up closer to Chanyeol’s face, he could smell the oil Yifan was using. It smelled like he’d just blended the citrus and the musk together. The spicy, bright scent curled into Chanyeol’s nose and seeped into his mind, deepening his already dreamy state.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol murmured hazily. 

Yifan chuckled, deep and rich. “Don’t apologize to me. I enjoy my job. Apologize to your own strained shoulders, if you must.” His grip on the back of Chanyeol’s neck firmed, holding him in place as his other hand worked deep circles into the muscles of his shoulder. On the third circle, the popping feeling started, knots cracking loose under the slow, hard pressure.

It felt beyond incredible, and Chanyeol moaned, loud and lusty and embarrassing. Yifan laughed and Chanyeol immediately snapped his mouth shut. “I’m sorry,” he said again, rueful.

“Mmm. Don’t be. Feedback is good.” He pushed down sharply, and Chanyeol couldn’t help but moan again as something popped and tension drained out of him, leaving him feeling liquid and boneless. “Make as much noise as you like.”

“You might regret saying that,” Chanyeol warned. 

Yifan’s grip gentled, soothing the recently abused shoulder with light, sweeping touches, before switching to give the other side the same treatment. “I doubt that,” he murmured. “Your voice is gorgeous.”

Oh. Chanyeol felt his face heat against the padded facerest. Yifan paused mid-stroke.

“Did you know you blush all the way down your shoulders?”

Damnit. Chanyeol’s flush burned brighter, and Yifan chuckled and resumed his ministrations.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I can’t be the first person to have commented on it.”

“Sure, but not usually while I’m mostly naked.”

Yifan laughed full-out at that. He had a dumb, braying laugh. Chanyeol kind of liked it.

“Okay, point.” Hard, deep strokes pressed into the muscles surrounding Chanyeol’s shoulder blades, dragging another moan from his throat. Chanyeol could see now why Baekhyun had referred to Yifan’s hands as _magic_ \- not only was he strong as hell, he had a wonderful ability to find exactly the spots that needed the pressure the most.

Well, he was a professional, after all.

They fell into comfortable silence after that. Chanyeol’s world consisted of nothing except the feeling of Yifan’s hands on his skin, the smell of the oil and the soft sound of the fountain. It was dreamy, trancelike, and incredibly relaxing, even when Yifan’s strong fingers found more painfully knotted spots.

With the oil now almost completely worked into his skin, Yifan’s hands moved up into Chanyeol’s hair, pulling softly at the strands and massaging his scalp in gentle circles. Chanyeol groaned and tilted his head as best he could, silently asking for more.

Then oil-softened fingers brushed lightly but deliberately over the shells of Chanyeol’s ears, and the shiver that raced down Chanyeol’s spine dragged him out of drowsiness.

“Ah, sorry,” Yifan murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Your ears must be sensitive.”

“They are,” Chanyeol replied, feeling himself blush again. 

The pads of Yifan’s index fingers found pressure points behind Chanyeol’s ears, massaging lightly. “Is this okay?” Yifan asked. 

Chanyeol nodded. His ears were definitely very sensitive, and he normally was uncomfortable with them being touched outside of an intimate situation, but what Yifan was doing felt really, really good, so Chanyeol bit his lip and allowed himself to revel in the sensations that overtook his body. He didn’t think ears were usually a part of a massage, but Yifan did say he customized his treatments to the individual.

It was over far too quickly, and then Yifan was touching him lightly on the shoulder, getting his attention. “Please turn over,” he murmured.

Pliant and half-hypnotized, Chanyeol did as he was told without a thought, letting Yifan’s warm hands guide him into scooting further down the table, sliding a heated pillow under his neck. It wasn’t until he was settled comfortably that Chanyeol realized he had a problem.

A thickening, stiffening problem in his tight black boxer-briefs.

A problem that was probably super obvious to Yifan right now.

He should have known the ear thing was a mistake.

_Yifan is a professional,_ Chanyeol told himself, as the man in question moved out of his sight range. _This probably happens all the time. It’s fine. He’s not going to be offended. There’s no reason to be embarrassed._

That lasted until Yifan came back into sight, and Chanyeol looked up at him and remembered how intensely handsome he was. Yifan smiled at him gently, one hand resting lightly on Chanyeol’s wrist, and Chanyeol felt his face flame for the third time.

“Feeling alright so far?” Yifan asked, as if oblivious to Chanyeol’s blush. Chanyeol nodded, not trusting his voice. “Alright, then. I’ll be touching more sensitive tissue now so please, let me know if you feel _any_ discomfort.”

Now on his back, Chanyeol could watch as Yifan slicked up his hands, long fingers shining with oil and stroking over each other to coat his skin evenly. He sat down on the stool by Chanyeol’s head, out of sight, and as his hands came down onto Chanyeol’s trapezius again, Chanyeol let his eyes flutter shut.

The pressure on his shoulders was by now familiar, and soothing, but soon Yifan’s hands moved over to the front of Chanyeol’s body, kneading lightly into the upper part of his pecs. Chanyeol twitched.

“Aish, so sensitive,” Yifan muttered. “All this is so jumpy.” He lightened his touch, slowed his strokes, caressing the muscle with just barely enough pressure to make it a massage. It _was_ jumpy, and Chanyeol couldn’t help the little gasps and twitches that escaped each time Yifan’s fingers found a new knot.

“You said you work out sometimes?” Yifan asked. Chanyeol nodded. “Can I give you some unwanted advice?”

“Uh. Sure?”

“Concentrate more on strengthening your back muscles,” Yifan advised. “I get that pecs are a show-off muscle and you’d want to work them, but they’re too strong for your back. It’s part of what’s causing you pain.”

Chanyeol opened his eyes and tilted his head back to look at Yifan. “Really?”

A small smile. “Yeah. Your chest is so jumpy because it’s overworked, too tight. Plus you said you hunch over a lot. All these muscles are crunched up, through here,” and he made a squeezing motion against Chanyeol’s chest to illustrate what he meant. “Your back is too weak to compensate, so the weight of your shoulders is putting too much pressure on your back and causing you pain. So make sure you stretch your chest really well after you work it, and put more effort into your back. It’ll help your posture, too, make you look taller and broader.” His eyes hooded, smile dimpling around the edges. “Not that you really _need_ the help. But it would be better for your body.”

The way Yifan was smiling at him was making his heart race. That was probably bad. “Okay,” Chanyeol agreed, rather mindlessly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’ll be looking for it the next time I see you,” Yifan murmured. He re-oiled his hands and started working on Chanyeol’s right shoulder, kneading into the thickest part of the muscle with the heels of his hands in very slow motions. Instead of closing his eyes again, Chanyeol dropped his head slightly to the side and absently watched Yifan work. His face was serene, his eyes downcast, all his attention on Chanyeol’s body. His forearms flexed and rippled as he worked, which was rather fascinating.

It should have been awkward to just lay there in silence and watch a total stranger rub oil into your skin, but somehow, it wasn’t. Yifan was completely absorbed in his task, and though there were some places in his shoulder and arm that stung - he hadn’t realized biceps could knot up, too - for the most part, it was terribly soothing and relaxing. 

Yifan rolled Chanyeol’s forearm between his hands, making the muscles and tendons pop and crackle, and making Chanyeol’s fingers twitch. Then he moved down to his hand, and Chanyeol could not stop the long, drawn-out moan that escaped him, because holy _fuck_ that felt _amazing_.

“Strong hands,” Yifan murmured, and Chanyeol glanced at him. Yifan flashed him a smile. “Even if you hadn’t told me you were a musician, I would have guessed from your hands. The callouses on the fingertips.” He started stroking each of Chanyeol’s fingers, and fuck, the wet pressure felt too much like a mouth on his hands, it was going straight to Chanyeol’s cock. Chanyeol closed his eyes and hoped his arousal wasn’t too obvious under the blanket, but frankly, right now, he was too blissed-out to care if Yifan saw.

Yifan set Chanyeol’s hand down carefully at his side and moved around the table, his fingers trailing delicately up the inside of Chanyeol’s elbow to his neck. “Enjoying yourself?” Yifan asked, low and soft and too-close to Chanyeol’s ear.

Chanyeol’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Yifan’s, liquid and hooded. He hummed his pleasure. “Mmm, yeah,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

A smile. “My pleasure,” Yifan purred. He pressed his thumbs to the insides of Chanyeol’s pecs and stroked them outwards, deep pressure that stretched the muscle and broke apart even more knots and tension. And maybe it was that Chanyeol’s body was already buzzing with arousal, or maybe it was the deep, suggestive tone of Yifan’s voice, but Chanyeol arched up into the touch with a soft, breathy moan.

Yifan’s hands stopped moving, resting warmly on Chanyeol’s chest for a moment. “Too much?” he asked softly.

“No, it’s perfect,” Chanyeol murmured back. His voice felt thick, and probably was at least as suggestive as Yifan’s. “I see why Baekhyun says you have magic hands.”

Yifan’s cheeks flushed just a little pink, which was so endearing Chanyeol might have stopped breathing for a moment there. “Ah, well, Baekhyun has been a client for a long time now,” he mumbled. “I guess he wouldn’t have kept coming back if he didn’t like my work.” He swept his palms flat over Chanyeol’s chest and upper ribs, the edges of his pinkies brushing just barely against Chanyeol’s nipples. Chanyeol was too entranced to jump, he only arched again into the touch, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips.

“I didn’t even know he did,” Chanyeol mumbled as Yifan re-slicked his hands and started on the opposite shoulder and arm. “I mean, I knew he had a weekly appointment, but he never really talked about you.”

A hum. “I’m insulted,” Yifan murmured, sounding anything but.

“I think he might have a crush on you,” Chanyeol said, before realizing that he maybe shouldn’t.

Fortunately, Yifan only laughed. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Chanyeol frowned, opening his eyes and tilting his head to look at Yifan. “I wasn’t worried,” he insisted. “I don’t care if he’s got a crush on you. You’re good-looking, why wouldn’t he?”

Yifan blushed deeper, his self-conscious smile wide and pretty. “Thanks, I think,” he said, his tone light. “You’re pretty good-looking yourself.”

He moved down to Chanyeol’s hand, and Chanyeol fought back another groan. “Are you so flirty with all your clients?” he asked blearily.

“Only when I think it’s welcome,” Yifan murmured. “Should I stop?”

Chanyeol thought about that for a second. “No,” he finally said. “I like it.”

A flash of white teeth. “Good. I was hoping so.” He set down Chanyeol’s hand and came back around to his head again. “Don’t forget - you can ask me to stop any action at any time. I won’t be offended.”

He oiled his hands for what had to be the dozenth time - Chanyeol wondered if all that oil was sinking into his bloodstream by now - and set them on Chanyeol’s shoulders. Then, he pushed forward, kneading into Chanyeol’s chest, then lightened his touch into a bare caress over Chanyeol’s ribs and down over his stomach, all the way down to his waistband before gliding back up again.

Chanyeol’s breath caught in his throat. He could see why someone might ask Yifan not to do that - it was a _terribly_ intimate touch, over very sensitive skin, and he could imagine not everyone would like it. But for his own part, Chanyeol stayed silent, watching as Yifan leaned out over him again, his shirt pulling tight over his chest and his body heat laying over Chanyeol like a formless blanket. Long, warm, slick fingers traced out the lines of Chanyeol’s stomach, spanned his waist from side to side, slid down and brushed the juts of his hipbones, and the touch raced down his body and pooled right in his cock, making it jerk with need against the sheet.

Yifan chuckled, warm. “Sensitive,” he noted. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Chanyeol eyed him as he pulled back. “I can’t decide if your bedside manner is atrociously unprofessional or the best thing ever.”

Leaning over him again, Yifan pulled the end of the sheet up, tucking it around Chanyeol’s shoulders. “If anything I say or do makes you uncomfortable, tell me,” he said, for the third time. “I am very serious about that.” He stepped around, coming to stand by Chanyeol’s hip, and reached for the other end of the sheet, lifting it to expose one of Chanyeol’s legs and tucking it neatly down.

Chanyeol dropped his chin to look down his body at Yifan, his mouth open to ask why Yifan kept saying that. He stopped mid-word.

Yifan was hard as a rock, a big, thick, terribly obvious bulge pressing against his white trousers.

“Oh,” Chanyeol said, rather dumbly.

A smile. “I can call another practitioner, if you would prefer,” Yifan said softly.

“No, that’s okay,” Chanyeol said quickly, feeling his ears heat. He couldn’t tear his eyes off it. _Wow_. “I’m not...offended?”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Yifan turned to the table to get more oil, moving easily and casually, as if he didn’t have a huge pole in his pants. It bobbed a little as he moved, and Chanyeol’s throat went abruptly dry. “Now you see why I am selective about my clients.”

Chanyeol met his eyes, his still-trancelike state making him bolder than normal. “You get off on this,” he accused. “Touching people.”

Yifan jerked his chin at Chanyeol’s crotch. “You’re getting off on me touching you, are you not?” he murmured. “It’s a mutual relationship.” He turned his back on Chanyeol and laid both hands on the swell of muscle right above Chanyeol’s knee, pressing his thumbs in. It gave Chanyeol a lovely view of broad shoulders stretching the fitted shirt to its limit, and the gentle curve of a small, tight ass.

“How mutual are we talking?” Chanyeol breathed as Yifan began kneading into his thigh. Yifan pressed on something, and it popped to the side, and Chanyeol twitched, holding back a groan.

“That is entirely up to you,” Yifan said. “I did say I would do nearly anything.” He glanced back over his shoulder and gave Chanyeol a crooked smile.

Wow.

Chanyeol was pretty sure he owed Baekhyun a card or something.

“That’s very unprofessional of you,” Chanyeol muttered, mostly to give himself space to think. Yifan was hinting at a lot here, and not actually saying much. How did Chanyeol know what to ask for? What would be crossing the line?

He hissed as Yifan’s fingers found yet another sharp, painful knot. Clucking his tongue, Yifan gentled his grip, carefully rolling his thumb over the spot until it crackled. “I am careful about who I push the envelope with,” Yifan said as he worked. “I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, ever, for any reason. But you seemed to be open to it.” He glanced at Chanyeol. “Was I wrong?”

Chanyeol shook his head. “No. I mean...you’re _stunning_. And all that looks…” He waved a hand in the general direction of Yifan’s bulging crotch. It was rather difficult; his arm felt like jelly. “Delicious,” he finally said, his ears heating.

Yifan laughed, cheeks pinking again. His hands dragged up Chanyeol’s thigh, one on the outside and one on the inside, pulling at the muscles. The hand on the inside stopped just shy of too far, and Chanyeol moaned much more loudly than intended, his cock jerking.

“You’re welcome to it, if you want it,” Yifan murmured, and oh, oh _fuck_ , really? “But I’d advise you let me finish the massage first.” He tapped on Chanyeol’s hipbone playfully. “Think about it. Oh, but remember, it’s alright if your answer ends up being _not today_.” Another flash of a smile. “You’re letting me touch you. That’s more than enough for me.”

Dropping his head back to the pillow and closing his eyes, Chanyeol muttered, “You can’t be real. This is a dream.”

That elicited a full-out laugh, embarrassed. “I’m odd, I know,” Yifan said playfully as he bent Chanyeol’s knee up slightly and snaked his hands under to knead into Chanyeol’s hamstrings. “Owning my own studio has given me the freedom for this. I have to be careful, choosy, but my regulars seem to be very satisfied with my service.” He trailed his fingers lightly behind Chanyeol’s knee, making him shudder, then moved on to Chanyeol’s calf, his grip strength steadily increasing until Chanyeol was groaning.

“That explains why Baekhyun was blushing when we were talking about you,” Chanyeol muttered. “What does he ask for?”

Yifan pressed the heel of his hand into the thin, tight muscles of Chanyeol’s shin and dragged downward, stretching places that Chanyeol would never have attempted to stretch himself. “That,” he said, “is between me and him. Client confidentiality, you understand.” He reached over and pulled back on Chanyeol’s foot, forcing his calf to stretch out. “I can tell you that my clients’ requests run the gamut from completely non-sexual massage-only, through every sex act you can think of, and out the other side into kinks you probably have never considered in your life.” He gently formed Chanyeol’s foot to point, pushing down a little to reverse the stretch. “I strive to provide a safe environment for most anything.”

Chanyeol _definitely_ owed Baekhyun a card. Maybe he’d bake some cookies, too. “What do you get out of it?” he asked.

Yifan turned, hooking his rolling stool over with his foot and plopping down on it by Chanyeol’s feet. He began kneading into the sole of Chanyeol’s foot, and Chanyeol’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head. “I get an outlet for my fetish,” Yifan admitted.

“Which is?”

“Body worship.” Yifan leaned down and dropped a soft, wet kiss on the top of Chanyeol’s foot. His eyes stayed locked onto Chanyeol’s, brows slightly knit, as if to say, _I hope this is okay_.

Chanyeol decided it was _very_ okay. “So you actually _do_ get off on touching people.”

“Mm-hm.” Yifan eyed him with a small smile. “You’re taking this rather more calmly than most.”

“I’m generally unflappable.”

Yifan stood, reaching over to re-settle the sheet over Chanyeol’s leg, and to bare the other one. “That’s a good quality to have,” he said as he sat back down and started on Chanyeol’s other foot. “I’ll admit, Baekhyun’s talked about you enough that I felt like I had met you already. Then I actually saw you, and...well.” A knot cracked open in the ball of Chanyeol’s foot, making him squirm. “My reasons for offering the free session were _entirely_ selfish.”

His dark tone was going right to Chanyeol’s head. “You wanted to touch me?” he asked breathlessly.

“Instantly,” Yifan admitted. “I apologize.” He started up Chanyeol’s other leg, repeating the same actions as the first, but in opposite order.

“Don’t apologize,” Chanyeol rumbled. Yifan stroked into his calf, dark eyes flicking up to Chanyeol’s face before returning to his task. “You can keep touching me as long as you like.”

A full, plush lower lip found its way between teeth. “Don’t say _that_ ,” Yifan said with a tiny smile. “I’ll never stop.” His hands landed above Chanyeol’s knee and kneaded into the thigh, and this time, Chanyeol could see Yifan’s bulging cock pulse as he squeezed the muscle.

Smug satisfaction filled Chanyeol’s lungs. Yifan was _getting off on this_. For _real_. This impossibly hot man thought Chanyeol was so impossibly hot that he was looking like he was going to come in his pants just from the feel of Chanyeol’s thigh.

It was very, very heady, this feeling. Chanyeol was pretty sure he was no longer entirely in control of his mouth - or his cock, which was fully hard and aching to be touched.

“Can you come just from touching someone?” Chanyeol asked abruptly. Yifan blinked at him. Chanyeol winced. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s alright. Yes. Given enough time and the right person, I can come just from touching someone’s body.” His smile was crooked. “It’s rare, though.”

Chanyeol felt like the breath was knocked right out of him. “Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Really?”

A laugh. “Yes. It’s only happened a couple of times, but, yes.” Yifan pressed the heels of his hands into Chanyeol’s thigh and pushed them upwards, higher and higher, again stopping just before he reached Chanyeol’s twitching cock. He reversed, trailing his fingers down Chanyeol’s thigh, gentle and teasing. “Have you thought about what you want?” he asked, his hands coming to rest just above Chanyeol’s knee.

Chanyeol has, and he knew the answer; he’s just wasn’t entirely sure how to ask for it. “I, uh…” Yifan cocked his head, waiting patiently with his face serene. “I want...that.”

An eyebrow. “ _That?_ ” Then, understanding hit. “Oh, you mean you want me to come without touching myself?”

Fuck. “Yeah,” Chanyeol muttered, embarrassed. “If you...if you think you can.”

Yifan’s gaze felt heavier than his hands. “If you let me worship you the way I want to,” he murmured, “I will do my best.”

Chanyeol had no idea what that meant, but he _wanted_ it. “Okay,” he whispered. “Yes.”

A pretty, delighted smile bloomed on Yifan’s features. “Thank you,” he breathed. “Here, sit up.” He reached out a hand and Chanyeol took it, oiled skin grasping for purchase on oiled skin. Yifan pulled him up to sitting, then sat down on the table next to Chanyeol’s hip, very close, very intimate. They were very near to the same size - Chanyeol was not used to someone tall enough to look him in the eye.

“Can I kiss you?” Chanyeol asked abruptly.

Instead of answering, Yifan leaned in, stopping with his lips a bare hair’s-breadth from Chanyeol’s. It was too easy to close the distance, and Yifan’s lips were exactly as warm and soft as they looked, pressing against Chanyeol’s sweet and chaste. The fire that roared down Chanyeol’s spine and ignited in his belly felt anything but chaste, and he moaned softly, parting his lips and mouthing gently at Yifan’s to encourage him to do the same. Yifan let Chanyeol lead, but his experience was very apparent, his mouth invitingly pliant. Chanyeol wondered how many other people Yifan had kissed in this room, and shivered.

Yifan took Chanyeol’s jaw in one big, warm hand, gently turned his face away, and sucked Chanyeol’s earlobe into his mouth. Gasping, Chanyeol reached for him, his hands landing on Yifan’s shoulders before it occurred to him that they were still oily. He made to let go, but Yifan did something with his tongue, and the spike of heat that shot down his spine made him lose track of everything else.

“Hmm, I thought so,” Yifan murmured, deep and rich and right in his ear. The words made his lips brush Chanyeol’s skin in all sorts of interesting ways.

“Thought what?” Chanyeol breathed, tilting his head to the side to give Yifan as much access as possible.

Big hands dropped to Chanyeol’s thighs, one on each, wrapping around the flesh up so high that his thumbs sat in the crease between Chanyeol’s thigh and pelvis. The touch was over his boxers, but it seared anyway, and Chanyeol resisted the urge to loudly moan and thrust his hips up. “Thought that you might like attention paid to your ears,” Yifan responded, punctuating the statement with a delicate lick up along the shell. Chanyeol’s cock jerked beyond his control, pulsing heavily, and Yifan moaned in response, making Chanyeol realize that he could feel the fabric of Chanyeol’s underwear stretch.

Yifan’s head turned, resting against Chanyeol’s temple. “Look at you,” he whispered. And Chanyeol wasn’t sure if the command was meant to be rhetorical, but he looked down anyway, at himself, and at Yifan’s body next to his. The contrast between his own gleaming, freshly-oiled torso and Yifan’s crisp, professional attire was very, very striking.

Feeling suddenly - simultaneously - self-conscious _and_ vain, Chanyeol sat up straighter, stretching out his torso so the minimal definition in his abs was more clearly visible. He had been working on it, sort of half-heartedly, but if there was any chance he was going to be seeing Yifan again, he had a feeling he was going to have a lot more motivation to go to the gym.

Humming, with a little smile curling his full lips, Yifan slid one hand behind Chanyeol, touching his fingers to a spot between and just below Chanyeol’s shoulder blades. “Squeeze here,” he murmured. “Pull your shoulder blades down, like - yes, that’s it.” Chanyeol did as he asked, tightening the particular muscle he was touching, his shoulders dropping and chest lifting, and tried to remember to breathe when Yifan’s mouth dropped open in an expression of undisguised lust. Long fingers traced out the shape of the flexed muscle. “There, see? That’s good posture. Practice that, it’ll help with the pain.” He nibbled on his lip. “And it looks fucking good on you.”

It felt weird, like he was purposely jutting his chest out, but if the way Yifan’s eyes burned into him was any indication, that was a good thing. Chanyeol lifted his chin proudly, feeling almost military in the uprightness of his posture, and Yifan sucked in a noisy breath, his body swaying forward as if pulled. He landed in the hollow of Chanyeol’s collarbones tongue-first.

Soft, wet warmth sucked into Chanyeol’s skin, then trailed up his right clavicle, thick lips wrapping around the bone and sliding along it like a train on a monorail. Gasping, Chanyeol arched, tilting his head away to give Yifan’s hot mouth all the access he wanted. Yifan’s hands slid across Chanyeol’s torso, one against his stomach and one against the small of his back, supporting him and...maybe feeling him as well? Testing the theory, Chanyeol curved the other way, pushing strength into his meager abs, making them as tight as he could manage. He was immediately rewarded with a full-body shudder and Yifan’s expression contorting with want against his skin.

“Ahh, _fuck_ , you’re so hot,” Yifan breathed, his broad hand curling in, fingers dragging against Chanyeol’s stomach. “I don’t usually offer free sessions, but with you, I couldn’t resist.” He laid his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder, looking up through his lashes, his pupils blown wide and black. “I kind of feel like I lured you into my lair to have my way with you, or something.”

Chanyeol gestured at his own crotch, bulging thickly beneath the fly of his boxer-briefs and getting thicker by the second. “Do I look like I’m complaining?” he muttered. “Can I...am I allowed to touch you, or…?”

“If you want to,” Yifan said, his hands sliding excruciatingly slowly up Chanyeol’s body. The hand in the front was stroking into every dip and ridge of Chanyeol’s abs, feeling for the definition that wasn’t yet apparent to the eye, taking his time with every line. Chanyeol’s stomach was starting to get tired, but he kept it tightly flexed, his ego inflating every time Yifan’s adoring fingers re-traced the same paths. 

Gingerly, Chanyeol lifted his arm and wrapped it around Yifan’s back. He was a tall man, broad through the shoulders, but his waist was so narrow, his body so _tight_. Chanyeol wished Yifan would take his starched shirt off, at least, but he wasn’t quite brave enough to ask.

Yifan curved against him like they were meant to fit together, completely oblivious to the massage oil staining his pristine clothes. His head turned, and then he was kissing his way across the top of Chanyeol’s right pectoral, headed back towards the center of his body. It forced him to lean across Chanyeol’s front, and he reached out to brace himself, his hand landing right at the thickest part of Chanyeol’s forearm. As soon as his fingers made contact, he shuddered again, squeezing and kneading the muscle.

Chanyeol’s head fell back, his eyes fluttering shut. “You touch people all day long, every day,” he murmured in between gasps. “How can I still be so sexy to you? You _have_ to have clients with better bodies than me.”

“What does _better_ mean?” Yifan mumbled into his skin. “You’re _gorgeous_. So lean.” He swiped his tongue flat against Chanyeol’s sternum, dragging it up between his pecs, then made a small, considering noise. “Your anatomy, every movement you make, it’s all so visible under your skin. It’s beautiful.” Ducking his head, Yifan found a particular spot right in the center and started to lap at it, little rumbling sounds of appreciation emanating from his throat.

Wrapping his arm closer around Yifan’s back, Chanyeol looked down at himself, at Yifan’s mouth on his glossy skin. His chest was heaving with his breath, but that wasn’t stopping Yifan from devoting all of his attention to that one little spot. It took a moment for Chanyeol to figure out why there, specifically - as Yifan had noted, he’d been working extra hard his chest, and there in the center was the first hint of enough muscular bulk that the striations of the fibers were visible, right where the muscle attached to the bone. Yifan was running his tongue over the striations, feeling them against his mouth, and practically _purring_ with arousal.

And just like that, Chanyeol was officially hard as a fucking rock, at least a 7 on the Mohs scale and quickly headed towards diamond. He’d never really thought of himself as a sexy guy, but Yifan’s attentions made him feel like a god, worthy of worship. It was a far bigger rush than he’d anticipated. 

Aching with lust, Chanyeol resisted the urge to grab his own cock and squeeze out some relief, and instead wrapped both arms around Yifan’s back and tugged him closer, practically into Chanyeol’s lap. Bringing both arms forward made his chest flex right into Yifan’s face, and he hadn’t _meant_ to do that, exactly, but Yifan made a strangled sound of want and dug his teeth into Chanyeol’s pec, biting down. With a tiny, rather embarrassing yip of surprise, Chanyeol overbalanced and fell back onto the massage table, dragging Yifan with him.

Laughing, Yifan grabbed the sides of the table and pulled his dangling legs up underneath himself. They rearranged, ending up with Chanyeol flat on his back and Yifan straddling his hips. Yifan leaned over, stretching his long body out to reach for something on the sideboard, and Chanyeol’s breath caught at the sight of the smears of massage oil on his shirt, the stiff, straining erection tenting up the front of his pressed white pants.

He wondered if Yifan would appreciate a blowjob. Everyone liked blowjobs, right? Even people with fetishes? It just looked so _big_. After fluttering his hands uselessly for a moment, Chanyeol wrapped his hands around Yifan’s upper thighs, steadying him as he leaned and wondering if grabbing his bulge would ruin their efforts to make Yifan come untouched.

Yifan came back to center with a warmed, fluffy folded towel in his hands. He reached down and coaxed Chanyeol’s head to raise, sliding the towel under his neck. “That’s better,” he murmured.

Chanyeol moved his head until it got settled, then sighed, the heat sinking into his neck and shoulders. Yifan smiled at him and bent down to take his mouth in a deep, searing, tongue-filled kiss. His fingers convulsing against the cloth-wrapped muscle of Yifan’s thighs, Chanyeol wondered if he was leaving oily handprints on Yifan’s white slacks, and wished he had the nerve to reach out and grab his tight, high little ass instead. He imagined the shape of his own hand emblazoned in oil on the back of Yifan’s pants and moaned loudly.

With one last nip at Chanyeol’s parted lips, Yifan pulled back just long enough to flash a smirk, then he was sliding down Chanyeol’s body. He started down the side of Chanyeol’s neck, using both his hand and his mouth to outline tendons, knead muscle, trace out veins. Turning his face away to give Yifan as much access as possible, Chanyeol found himself staring unseeingly at the serene little fountain babbling away in the corner as sensations danced over his skin in waves - deep pressure, feathery stroking, hot and cool and wet and dry and soft and sharp and holy _balls_ , how was he doing all that with just his _mouth_?

Yifan moved down to Chanyeol’s trapezius, the tightest, most locked-up spot right where his shoulder hung from his neck, and dug in with his mouth. It wasn’t a bite, exactly, but it was _deep_ , stretching out the muscle and working at the knot in the same way his hands had earlier. Gasping, Chanyeol arched into it, pain and pleasure and the pulling sensation of a good stretch all radiating up his neck and down into his back and chest.

Pulling back slightly, Yifan soothed the spot with the flat of his tongue, then kept licking downward. He sank his teeth into the meaty outside of Chanyeol’s shoulder, moaning deeply in his throat. A big, warm hand, softened from the oil, wrapped around Chanyeol’s arm just below the shoulder and worked down in long, slow, squeezing strokes, simultaneously feeling the muscles and massaging them. Yifan’s body drifted lower, closer to the table; when he wrapped his hand around Chanyeol’s elbow and dug his thumb into the swell of Chanyeol’s bicep, Chanyeol felt Yifan’s cock jump excitedly against his thigh.

Pride swelled in Chanyeol’s chest, bubbling up into his head and dripping down into his cock. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this hard, this turned on, this _addicted_ to the way another person made him feel. Wanting to feel that way more, Chanyeol bent up his knee, brushing his thigh against the front of Yifan’s pants, and simultaneously clenched his fist and turned it inward, making his thin bicep roll under the skin. Yifan’s hand actually _spasmed_ against him, a deep, startled _ah_ falling from his lips against Chanyeol’s shoulder, and his cock jerked again, pressing into Chanyeol’s leg.

Chanyeol let out a shaky, breathless laugh, more arousal and embarrassment than humor. “Whoa,” he said. “You really like that?”

Yifan chuckled and shrugged. “I am who I am,” he murmured, mouthing his way down the crest of Chanyeol’s bicep. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the center of the muscle, and whispered, “Do it again?”

His heart pounding, Chanyeol obliged, squeezing his muscles tight. He felt the arch of his bicep press up against Yifan’s mouth, and this time, Yifan’s entire _body_ shuddered, overcome. He curled in, his bulging cock dragging a beautiful, slow, hard line up Chanyeol’s thigh, before he remembered himself and pulled away.

“Sorry,” he murmured breathlessly. “You feel so _good_.” His broad, warm palm kneaded strongly into Chanyeol’s arm, forcing the muscle to relax, and Chanyeol let his hand drop.

“Fuck, so do you,” Chanyeol agreed. “Yifan, would you...Can I ask you to...I don’t know, unbutton your shirt or something?” Yifan looked up at him questioningly. “You’re completely dressed and I’m practically naked.”

Flashing him a sly grin and a wiggle of thick brows, Yifan rumbled, “So I noticed.” But he sat back on his heels, and...oh _wow_.

Chanyeol lifted up onto his elbows so he could get a better look at the long body straddling his thigh. With his knees bent and thighs spread, Yifan’s fitted trousers were stretched taut across his lap, the center filled with straining, pulsing cock, from which a distinct patch of wet had already begun to spread, obvious against the white fabric. And yes, Chanyeol’s grip had left oily handprints, branding Yifan’s pristine white thighs. 

Long, dexterous fingers reached up, deftly undoing each button one by one. He wasn’t wearing an undershirt beneath that starched grey dress shirt, and each little bit of skin seemed to glow with health. Or maybe he was in the habit of using that nice massage oil on himself, Chanyeol didn’t know. All he knew, as the shirt sides fell open all the way down to where the shirt was tucked into his slacks, was that he desperately wanted to touch.

Chanyeol reached, and Yifan leaned back down, and as Yifan’s head bent to return to his ministrations, Chanyeol’s hands slid inside his shirt, pressing tentatively to warm, smooth skin. Yifan felt even tighter and smoother than he looked, soft, silky skin stretched over long bones and lean muscles. Wrapping his arms around Yifan’s back under the shirt, Chanyeol let his head fall back as Yifan’s mouth pressed against his skin.

Kissing a slow line down Chanyeol’s chest, Yifan took a detour to wrap his lips softly around Chanyeol’s right nipple. Arching, Chanyeol gasped, the wet pressure sending waves of pleasure down his body. 

As Yifan kissed and licked his way across to the other nipple, Chanyeol wrapped his hands in Yifan’s unbuttoned shirt and tugged it free from his belt. He took his time sliding the shirt down Yifan’s broad shoulders, touching every bit of skin along the way, indulging himself. Yifan purred against his chest, his lips curling into a smile around Chanyeol’s left nipple.

“Sit up,” Chanyeol murmured, and Yifan did as he asked, letting Chanyeol tug the shirt off his arms. His sleek body was outlined in curves of candlelight, dark eyes shadowed and focused completely on Chanyeol below him. Chanyeol tossed the shirt to the floor, and Yifan scooted back a bit, so his knees were on the outsides of Chanyeol’s.

This time, when he bent down, Yifan went lower, outlining Chanyeol’s bottom ribs, dipping his tongue into Chanyeol’s solar plexus, his fingers delicately skimming up the sides of Chanyeol’s stomach. He managed to walk a perfect line between caressing and tickling, making Chanyeol squirm and hold back a snort of laughter. Shooting him a knowing smile, Yifan slid back even further, displaying catlike flexibility as he sat back on his heels without lifting his mouth from Chanyeol’s skin, his plush lips dragging a line down the center of Chanyeol’s stomach. It raised goosebumps in its wake, leaving Chanyeol’s entire center tingling.

Then, Yifan curled his body lower, and pressed a soft, slow, wet kiss to the inside of Chanyeol’s thigh, high on the inside, right at the hem of his boxer-briefs.

“Ah,” Chanyeol gasped, his legs twitching. He nearly kicked Yifan where it hurt, and Yifan chuckled and pressed his palms to Chanyeol’s thighs to steady him, but Chanyeol couldn’t help it, that was _sensitive_.

And Yifan had to know that, but that didn’t stop him from bending down again; he just firmed his grip to pin Chanyeol’s legs down and kept his kisses slow and feathery, pulling back just as the sensation was edging on too intense, keeping Chanyeol on a knife’s edge. His grip pulsed rhythmically, deep, slow massage of the tight muscles above Chanyeol’s knees, a steadying counterpoint to the teasing heat of his mouth. 

Chanyeol had never, ever been this hard. He hadn’t known arousal like this could exist. He was certain he could cut glass with his cock right now, or smash bricks. Nothing in the universe sounded as good as Yifan’s hot mouth rising higher, giving his throbbing shaft the same treatment he was giving Chanyeol’s tense thighs. 

Somehow, though, Chanyeol couldn’t bring himself to ask for it. He was pretty sure Yifan would be perfectly willing to do so, if he asked. But instead, Chanyeol kept his hands clenched in tight fists at his sides, all his will focused on not squirming, not thrusting, not coming.

That lasted until Yifan did rise higher, his warm breath ghosting over Chanyeol’s clothed cock as he passed. Chanyeol moaned brokenly, jerking precome, and lifted himself up on his elbows so he could look down his body and see what Yifan was doing.

Yifan pressed a soft kiss to the skin right above Chanyeol’s navel, and his chest dropped low, brushing against Chanyeol’s straining cock. That little touch, bare though it was, sent fire rippling through Chanyeol’s veins, and he was lifting his hips before he could stop himself, grinding into Yifan’s chest.

With a small, surprised noise, Yifan looked up, dark eyes under dark eyelashes and a jawline like a blade, his lips parted, red, and wet. Helplessly, Chanyeol thrust up again, uncaring that the fabric between them chafed. He needed pressure on his cock, he _needed_ it.

Bless Yifan, who might have been a mind reader. “Can I take these off you?” Yifan asked, tugging at the waistband.

“Please,” Chanyeol breathed. And Yifan did exactly that, sliding his boxers down as Chanyeol lifted his hips and working them down Chanyeol’s thighs and off at his feet. He dropped them to the side and reached for something on the side table, simultaneously pressing kisses to Chanyeol’s feet, alternating insteps and arches and big toes. Chanyeol was too turned on for the delicate touch to feel anything other than sexual, and his cock pulsed again, dripping precome onto his belly.

Yifan climbed back astraddle, upending the bottle in his hand over his other palm. Chanyeol tensed, anticipating Yifan’s hand on his cock and praying he didn’t come from that alone, but it never came. Instead, Yifan slid his broad palm down the center of his chest, from collarbone to solar plexus, leaving a glistening line of oil in his wake.

He leaned back down, lapping up the centerline of Chanyeol’s stomach with short, sketching strokes, like an artist shaping a curve. As he slid forward, he arched down like a cat, dragging his oiled chest over Chanyeol’s ridge.

Spitting out a swear word that felt more like a prayer, Chanyeol grabbed Yifan’s shoulder with the hand not holding his torso up and held him still as he thrust up.

Yifan’s chest was just built enough that Chanyeol’s cock was guided between his pecs, and he instantly began to moan, a deep rumble that Chanyeol could feel reverberate right against his cock. It wasn’t soft, but it was slick and warm, and the firmness of the pressure was sensual in its own right. It was bare seconds before Chanyeol was working his hips up in a steady rhythm, grinding himself deliciously and moaning continuously.

“God, _yes_ ,” Yifan murmured, bending his head. His mouth and both hands landed on Chanyeol’s stomach. Gasping, Chanyeol refocused his eyes, looking down to see his own abdominals appearing under the skin at the top of each thrust, and Yifan’s greedy mouth and searching fingers skittering across his body in an attempt to absorb every detail. One hand dropped down to Chanyeol’s thigh, which was tensing harder and harder as Chanyeol came closer to orgasm.

Testing a theory, Chanyeol made his thrusts sharper and stronger, pulling his stomach tight. Yifan immediately moaned, his hands clenching around Chanyeol’s body, and over his back, Chanyeol saw his hips shifting in a very distinctive way. He knew that movement - he saw it with other lovers, in porn, even did it himself.

Yifan was about to come. Chanyeol hadn’t touched him, he hadn’t touched himself, and he was about to come.

“Fuck,” Chanyeol whispered. He wrapped his hand around the back of Yifan’s head, tangling his fingers in soft hair. “Come on, you can do it. Come for me.”

“You first,” Yifan murmured, pressing his body lower as one hand moved down to cup Chanyeol’s hip. His thumb slid down the crease of Chanyeol’s thigh until it pressed just behind his balls.

Chanyeol fell to the table, his eyes rolling back. He stared at the candlelit shadows dancing across the dark-painted ceiling as orgasm rolled up his legs and down his torso. With a soft gasp, Chanyeol came, his entire body going stiff.

“Fuck,” Yifan whispered, his hands clenching powerfully into Chanyeol’s spasming body as streaks of come mixed with the oil on Yifan’s chest. “Ah, fuck, _fuck_ -” 

As sense came back to Chanyeol’s mind, he felt Yifan’s weight fall forward, and managed to lift himself up again just in time to watch Yifan’s expressive face contort in ecstasy, his cheek pressed to Chanyeol’s stomach. Yifan’s hips jerked, and Chanyeol suddenly regretted that their position was such that he couldn’t see his cock jerking instead. So he watched Yifan’s face, instinctively reaching down to card his fingers through Yifan’s hair, soothing him as he finished.

Groaning, Yifan collapsed to the side, curling in on himself. He looked up, his face still resting on Chanyeol’s stomach, and smiled contentedly. “That was beautiful,” he murmured.

Biting his lip, Chanyeol carefully shifted his legs until his view of Yifan’s crotch wasn’t obscured. Sure enough, his white trousers were soaked in front, his cock still visibly twitching with aftershocks beneath. “You’re not kidding,” Chanyeol mumbled. “Next time, I want to _see_ that.”

He only realized it was kind of a demanding thing to say _after_ the fact, but Yifan’s smile widened. “You’ll come back, then?” he asked, sounding eager. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

Chanyeol blinked. He’d been so focused on release, he’d nearly forgotten their circumstances. Right. Yifan was a professional, and he did this - or something like it, anyway - with an unknown number of other people. Did that...change anything?

He thought about it for a moment, and decided it didn’t have to.

“Yeah, I’ll definitely be back,” he agreed, and Yifan made a little triumphant gesture with his fist. “How should I…”

“Just speak with Victoria at the desk,” Yifan said. “She handles that part, so I can concentrate on handling the clients.” He winked.

Groaning, Chanyeol shoved him. “Cheeseball.”

Yifan chuckled as he slid off the table and straightened up. Come was sliding down his slick skin, but if he noticed or cared, he didn’t show it. “You caught me. I’m cheesier than brie.” He picked up his shirt, but made no move to put it on. “Do you need anything else, before I…?”

Oh. Chanyeol sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the table. “I...I guess not?” How did Yifan manage to look professional while covered in oil and come? “Thank you. Seriously. That was incredible.”

Yifan tilted his jaw up with a ginger touch and pressed a soft kiss to Chanyeol’s mouth. Sighing, Chanyeol relaxed into the kiss, nipping lightly at Yifan’s plush lips.

Humming, Yifan pulled away and smiled. “I look forward to seeing you again,” he said sincerely. “Take your time getting dressed. There’s wet cloths in the steamer if you want to clean up. You can relax in the sitting area as long as you like before you leave.” Stealing one last kiss, Yifan padded out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Chanyeol fell back on the table, boneless, just breathing in the quiet, candlelit room.

 

* * * * *

 

“So how was it?”

“Can you let me get in the door first?” Chanyeol quipped, shoving at Baekhyun’s shoulder. He was too cheerfully blissful for his words to have any bite, though, and clearly Baekhyun saw that, because his grin widened and he clapped his hands together like a seal.

“I _knew_ it!” he crowed. “I _knew_ he wouldn’t offer a free session to just _anyone_. You lucky fucking bastard.” Baekhyun finally moved to the side enough for Chanyeol to step into the apartment and shut the door behind him. “Seriously though. Did he...did you…?”

Chanyeol kept his eyes on his shoes as he toed them off. “I’m not sure it’s any of your business,” he said mildly. “You’ve kept _your_ mouth shut about him for months.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know...I didn’t think...Come on, it’s a little unusual. How do I just say ‘hey by the way, I’m banging my massage therapist, and I’m pretty sure his other clients are too’?”

That got Chanyeol’s attention. “You’ve had sex with him?” he asked, looking up.

Baekhyun blinked. “You didn’t?”

Redness crept into Chanyeol’s cheeks. “Not...exactly.” He bit his lip. “I didn’t ask for it. Maybe I will, next time.” Then, a thought occurred to him, and he looked up. “Baek, is it...is this okay? Are we okay? He was really professional about it with me, but...If you’ve got, like, _feelings_ , I don’t have to go back.”

To his relief, Baekhyun just waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that. He’ll probably give you the no-attachment speech if you go back, but anything with Yifan has to stay strictly physical. If you start developing feelings, he’ll cut you off, refuse to see you. I’ve seen it happen.”

Chanyeol blinked. “I guess that makes sense. Does he ever...well, I’ll have to ask him that.”

Hiking himself up onto the nearby kitchen counter, Baekhyun guessed, “Does _he_ ever develop feelings? I asked him that once. He told me he’s aromantic, so not really. At least, not the way we might expect." Leaning back on his hands, Baekhyun said, "I guess he prefers his friendships and his sex life to be, like, _completely_ separate. Hence, the studio."

Shrugging, Chanyeol said, "Works for me."

 

* * * * *

 

As it turned out, Yifan's prices were relatively high, and Chanyeol couldn't afford to go once a week like Baekhyun did. He settled on a once a month visit, and it quickly became the highlight of his month. Yifan's studio was a sanctuary, a place where he could completely let go.

Three months in, as Chanyeol was coming out of the back room, wrung out and sated and glowing with oil and endorphins, he found a nervous-looking young man standing awkwardly in the middle of the sitting room. The kid was even skinnier than Chanyeol and almost as tall, and Chanyeol couldn't help but notice the way his lanky body was put together, the way this muscles moved as he shifted in place. Yifan was rubbing off on him.

The kid flashed a smile at Chanyeol and looked away, then down, then back at the door. Taking pity on him, Chanyeol asked, “Are you waiting on something?”

Startled, the young man looked up. “Just the...um, the massage therapist.” He smiled, sheepish. “I’ve never done this before, but my friend comes here all the time and he bought me an appointment for my birthday. I wasn’t expecting it to be so...uh, _posh_.”

Chanyeol felt his polite smile widening. This was the first time he was talking about this with someone who didn’t know what was going on. It felt like being in a secret club. Cool. “You’ll be fine. He’s super nice.”

The kid frowned. “ _He?_ ”

Chanyeol opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Yifan came out of the back room. Somehow, he looked clean and fresh and neat, dressed in pressed and professional clothes, despite the fact he’d been completely naked and absolutely drenched in oil, sweat and come not ten minutes earlier.

“Sehun?” Yifan asked. The young man stood up straighter, his eyes widening and trailing down Yifan’s long, gorgeous body. “I’m Yifan. Jongin has told me a lot about you.” They shook hands, and Chanyeol had to cover his face to keep from laughing. He wondered if _he_ had looked that awestruck when he first met Yifan. “Come on back. I’m ready for you.”

As he ushered Sehun through the door, Yifan looked back over his shoulder and tossed Chanyeol an exaggeratedly saucy wink.

Chanyeol couldn’t stop laughing the entire way home.


End file.
